Faded Pictures In My Scrapbook
by TheNextFolchart
Summary: A collection of drabbles featuring the Weasley family. Written primarily for the Connect The Weasleys Challenge on HPFC.
1. i know

**I Know**

_Molly and Ginny_

* * *

Ginny was very, very careful not to get caught stealing the lipstick.

She waited until her mother was busy with the breakfast dishes and her dad was off to work before slipping into her parents' bedroom. There, on her mother's bedside table, sat the glorious silver tube of red makeup. Ginny licked her dry lips and smiled. No longer would she be plain. No longer would she go unnoticed. From this day forward, she would be beautiful.

She smuggled the lipstick back up to her room, hiding it in the pocket of her jumper so nobody would see. It would be hours before her mother went back into the bedroom; hours before anyone noticed the lipstick was missing, and at that point the trail would have run cold. Nobody would link it back to her. And when she came downstairs with her fabulous new look, they would just think she'd finally begun growing up.

It was flawless.

Ginny closed her bedroom door and sat down at her vanity. She pulled the cap off the lipstick and twisted it gently until the red tip was showing. Stretching her mouth into a closed-lipped smile, she began to trace.

She went slowly, the way she'd always seen Mum do it, and worked her way from the outer rims to the inner rims. The makeup felt heavy and sticky on her lips (and though she'd never admit it, Ginny preferred them dry), but she kept going, guiding the tube carefully until her smile was bright red. When it was done, she leaned forward and kissed her reflection in the mirror, leaving behind a bright red smudge.

She was just searching for a place to hide it when her door was flung open. "Ginevra Weasley," her mother said, storming into her bedroom. "Is that _lipstick _on your face?"

Ginny jumped and hurriedly folded her lips in. "No," she said as clearly as she could. "I ate a cranberry."

Molly looked pointedly at the open lipstick applicator on Ginny's worn vanity.

Ginny sighed. "It's lipstick," she said, moving to wipe it off on the back of her hand.

Molly sat on the bed beside her daughter. "What on Earth possessed you to put on lipstick?"

She shrugged uncomfortably. "_You _wear lipstick."

"I'm not six years old."

Ginny's eyes were welling up with tears. "It's just - Charlie's got a girlfriend now, and - "

"Charlie's got a _what_?"

"A girlfriend. He didn't tell you?"

"No." Molly couldn't decide whether to feel hurt or furious. "He's too young for a girlfriend. He's what, fourteen?"

Ginny nodded. "He's liked her for ages, Mum. Don't get mad at him. She's really nice."

"You've _met _her?"

"No, but Charlie wrote me about her. He sent me her picture." She pointed at her vanity, where the moving photo was propped up against the mirror. It was the two of them, Charlie and the girlfriend, laughing and chasing each other while autumn leaves swirled all around them. Charlie's breath hung in a fog in front of him as he said something to her, and she threw back her head and laughed. Ginny couldn't help shivering when she looked at them, all clad in scarves and gloves. It made her feel sad, watching nature fade from summer to autumn. It always felt like the end of something marvelous. "They took it last week, when the leaves started changing."

Molly picked up the photograph and examined the girl carefully. Her hair was blonde, and her eyes were hazel, and her hair was red - except a moment ago it had been _blonde_, so that didn't make any sense - and now her eyes were blue, and her nose was growing longer and freckles dotted her nose and - was that _Fred? _

"What happened?" Molly asked, holding the photo out for Ginny to see. "Where's she gone?"

"She's a metamorphagus," Ginny said glumly. "She can change what she looks like without even thinking about it. And Mum, no matter what she does - except when she's being Fred, I suppose - she's always _beautiful_."

Molly heard the bitterness in the word. "You're always beautiful too, Ginny."

"I just want to be as beautiful as she is. I don't want Charlie to forget all about me. I don't want him to stop writing me."

"He won't." Molly pulled her daughter into a hug. "He would never."

Ginny sniffled. "I feel so ugly," she confessed quietly.

"I know you do, love, I know. I've been there, too." Without breaking the hug, she reached around to pluck the lipstick tube off the vanity. "But makeup is not the answer."

"Then what is?"

"Being as beautiful as you can on the inside."

Ginny pulled away, scrubbing at her nose. "I suppose." She took a deep breath. "Don't tell the others I was crying," she said. "Especially Ron."

Molly kissed the top of her head. "Of course not." She stood to leave, dropping the lipstick into her pocket as she went.

"Mum?"

She turned. "Yes?"

Ginny bit her still-faintly-red lip. "I love you."

Molly smiled. "I know. I love you too." And she closed the door behind her.

* * *

_[Connect The Weasleys Challenge: Ginny/Molly, "I Know."]_

_[Duct Tape Challenge: Bows - Write about someone secretly insecure with their appearance (too much make up, too many accessories, too tight clothing, ect).]_

_[Interesting Words Challenge: __Rudenėja - the way nature and/or the weather begins to feel like autumn__]_

_[Disney Character Competition: Character - Dopey; Prompt - Swirls]_

_[Oh The Thinks You Can Think Challenge: Sneeches - write about someone who perceives him/herself as ugly.]_


	2. murmur

**Murmur**

_Arthur and Fred_

* * *

For once, house was quiet enough for Arthur to hear them murmuring, even though the twins' room was all the way upstairs.

"So what we'll do," he heard one of the twins say, "is go downstairs into Dad's room - "

" - only once we've distracted him in the kitchen, of course," the other one added.

"Yes, only when he's distracted - and we'll steal his secret firewhiskey."

Arthur's jaw dropped. _Firewhiskey? _The boys were only seven! What did they want to try _firewhiskey _for?

(And how did they know he had a secret bottle under his bed?)

"All right, George," Fred said. "You do the distracting, I'll go to Dad's room. Ready?"

"Ready."

Arthur moved to stand in the doorway of his bedroom, arms crossed over his chest. He heard the boys clunk their way downstairs, and he felt his mouth grow into a grim smile. They wouldn't get away with anything this time.

"Dad?" George called from the kitchen. "Dad, could you come here for a mo'?"

"You come to me, son," Arthur said, planting his feet.

"No, I need you here. I - " There was a smashing sound. "I broke a plate. I need your help to clean it up."

Fred poked his head around the corner, and then hastily retracted it when he saw his father looking back at him.

"I'm afraid I have to stay here, by my bedroom," Arthur said. "Your brother can help you, when he's done spying on me."

Fred slunk guiltily out into the open. "Hiya, Dad," he said with a wide smile. "How've you been, then?"

"I've been fine, Fred. And yourself?"

"Oh, you know. Same as usual. Say, d'you think you should help George out in the kitchen?"

"Oh, no, I think he can handle it. I'm staying right here."

Fred swallowed. "What if George gets out one of Mum's sharp knives?" he asked. "What if he cuts himself? Mum'll be awfully angry if you don't help him."

"Oh, no," George added from the kitchen. "This knife is heavy. I might slip!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Boys," he said. "Boys, boys, boys. Do you think your father is an imbecile?"

"No, Dad."

"We think you're brilliant."

"My knife really is slipping, though, you'd better come help."

"I think he means it, Dad."

"I'm not going to be lured away from this door," he said. "I know what you're up to. You want to steal my firewhiskey."

Fred's eyes widened. "What? We want no such thing!"

"No such thing," echoed George from the kitchen.

"We're underage, Dad."

"Can't you count at all?"

"All we can drink is pumpkin juice."

"Why would we even want to drink firewhiskey?"

"Whenever _you_ drink it, you act like a fool."

"We've seen old photographs, Dad. You danced on tabletops and everything."

"Boys," Arthur said, turning red. "Stop this. I heard you planning in your room. I'm not going to leave this doorway. And there is _nothing _you can do about it."

Fred sighed. "Fine." He padded away back to the kitchen. "Come on, George. Our plan didn't work. He knows what we're up to."

"Shame," George said. "I really wanted to try firewhiskey."

"Oh, well." Arthur heard their footsteps on the stairs. "S'pose we can't win them all."

And Arthur, feeling thoroughly proud of himself, abandoned his post and went to assess the damage in the kitchen.

* * *

"We really are brilliant, you know that, Fred?" George said they closed the door to their room and sat on the floor between their twin beds. "Absolutely brilliant." He set the cookie jar between them and reached inside.

"It's all thanks to the thin walls around here," Fred replied, taking a cookie for himself. "I didn't think it would work, to be honest. I was sure he'd realize what we were up to."

George reached for another cookie. "Of course not. Dad's thick, bless his heart. He heard us talking about nicking his firewhiskey, so he thought we were going to nick his firewhiskey. Why would he suspect that the real distraction was you in the bedroom, while I grabbed the cookies? Especially," he added, nudging his brother, "when you're such a good actor?"

Fred grinned. "Me? No, no, it was _you_. 'Dad, I've broken a plate! Dad, the knife is slipping!' Such improvisation. Such talent." He crunched down on another chocolate chip cookie. "George, my friend, it was an absolute privilege to work with you."

"_Boys!_" Arthur shouted up the stairs. "_What've you done with the cookie jar?_"

"Nothing," the twins called together, sharing a secret smile, and they each pulled out another cookie.

* * *

_[Connect The Weasleys Challenge: Murmur, Fred/Arthur]_

_[Duct Tape Challenge: Checkerboard - write about someone one step ahead of their enemies]_

_[Disney Character Competition: Gepetto - write about Arthur Weasley. Prompt: Cookies]_

_[Oh The Thinks You Can Think Challenge: Thing One and Thing Two - write about Fred and George]_


	3. color

**Color**

_Percy and George_

* * *

"GEORGE!" roared Percy, pounding on his brother's door. "George Weasley, open up this instant!"

The door opened slowly, and Fred poked his head out. "George isn't in just now," he said pleasantly. "If you'll kindly leave your name, I'll ensure he gets back to you in a timely fashion."

"Oh, _move._" Percy pushed past Fred. "George," he said, throwing something shiny and hard on the bed. George, who was reading a comic book, looked up.

"Oh, hello there, Perce!" he said. "Lovely to see you. We really weren't expecting visitors."

"What have you _done_," Percy hissed, "to my Prefect's badge?"

"You've got a Prefect's badge, Perce?" George said, eyebrows raised. "How'd you get one of them?"

"I think he's a real live Prefect, George," Fred said.

"No way." George looked at Percy. "Is that true? You haven't said anything about it in almost a day, so I wasn't sure if maybe they'd taken it away from you?"

Percy pursed his lips. "What have you done to my badge?" he repeated.

"Is that what this is?" George asked, picking up the shiny object on his bed and pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. "Funny. I thought Prefect's badges were supposed to be silver."

"They are!"

"Well, I'm afraid yours is a bit defective then, mate. It's turned blue. Oh, now it's red. And gold! Brown, now. Percy, your badge seems to be confused about which color it's supposed to be."

"Don't play dumb!" Percy cried. "I know you did it. You asked me for the color-change spell _last night_."

"Bad luck, there," Fred said from the doorway.

"No, no, Perce, you've got me all wrong." George sat up and pointed at a large canvas that was leaning against the wall. "I just wanted the spell for a lovely painting I've been working on for your birthday."

The canvas, which had once presumably been white, was splattered with color, as if someone had thrown random pots of paint onto it at will. It looked more like a mess than a work of art.

"You see?" George said. "The red there is your hair. And the blue, that's your jumper. And the orange is your skin - you've got a bit of a bad tan, mate, but it's all right, I can always touch it up later."

"I think it's coming along quite nicely," said Fred.

"Why, thank you, Frederick."

"You're welcome, Georgerick."

"Knock it off," Percy cried.

George put a hand on Percy's shoulder. "What's wrong, Percerick? You don't like it? It isn't finished yet, you know. Your birthday isn't for another week, I've got time to polish it up."

Percy narrowed his eyes. "George, I know you're the one who ruined my badge."

George sighed. "Did you miss the explanation of the painting? I'll tell you again, if you like. I needed the color-change spell so I could do a painting for your birth - "

Percy was close to tears. "Don't go into my room anymore," he said. "Don't touch my belongings. Especially not the ones that will affect my school year."

"If you're so concerned about your badge," Ginny said, poking her head into the room, "why don't you just change it back?"

Percy rounded on her. "I don't suppose you would understand this, since you haven't been to Hogwarts yet, but students are _not _permitted to do magic outside of school. It's irresponsible, and every time an underage wizard raises his wand - _especially _around here - the world becomes slightly worse of a place!"

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "It was only a suggestion," she said coolly. "Just trying to be helpful."

"I know you were, Ginny, but you have to learn to stay out of business that isn't your own." He turned back to George. "I can have you written up for this," he said. "I can get you into more trouble than that, in fact. Underage magic outside of school is an offense punishable by expulsion." He leaned in very close to George's face. "How would you like to watch a Ministry official snap that wand of yours, George?"

George raised his hands up in surrender. "I didn't meddle with your badge," he said. "But if you're so uptight, get Mum to change it back for you."

Percy pushed his glasses up his nose and stormed out of the room, muttering about disrespect and nearly crashing into Ginny.

"What a prat," she said, coming into the twins' room and sitting on Fred's bed.

"That was brilliant, though," Fred said to George.

"It was," George agreed. "I only wish I'd done it."

"You didn't?"

"No," Ginny said. "I did."

The twins gaped at her. "You did?"

She nodded, swinging her legs back and forth. "He told me I was too young to do magic," she explained. "So I took his wand after dinner and changed his badge." She shrugged. "Teach him to underestimate me, eh?"

The twins were still staring at her.

"What?" She squirmed uncomfortably.

"Our little sister's all grown up," George said, handing her his wand. "And she's bloody _clever_. Percy's 'world getting worse' speech is rubbish. The world got a little better today." He pulled Percy's Gryffindor scarf from under his pillow. "I was saving this for a later prank, but would you do me the honor of charming it to strangle him when he tries to put it on?"

Ginny grinned and twirled the wand between her fingers. "It would be my pleasure."

* * *

_[Connect The Weasleys Challenge: Percy/George, "Color"]_

_[Duct Tape Challenge: Paint Splatters - write about something unpredictable]_

_[Disney Character Competition: White Rabbit - write about Percy Weasley; Prompt: Paint]_

_[Oh The Thinks You Can Think: Mayzie Bird - write about someone irresponsible]_

_[Interesting Words Challenge: __Meliorism - the belief that the world gets better; the belief that humans can improve the world__]_


	4. nightmare

**Nightmare**

_Bill and Ron_

* * *

Sometimes Ron dreams he's sitting in an empty train station waiting for someone to come for him.

(Nobody ever does, and he wakes up crying.)

It's always Bill who comes to him first. Not Mum or Dad, not Percy, not even Ginny, and she sleeps in the room just next to his, so he knows she hears him sobbing. No, it's always Bill: Bill who asks what's wrong, Bill who offers him a chocolate frog from his secret stash, Bill who makes the promise: _I will always come for you._

And everyone knows that Bill Weasley doesn't break his promises.

* * *

_[Connect The Weasleys Challenge: Bill/Ron, "Nightmare"]_

_[Becoming a Wizard Challenge: Number 4 Privet Drive - write about a dream]_

_[Wizard Sweets Challenge: Chocolate Frogs]_

_[100 Prompts Challenge: Waiting]_


	5. steady

**Steady**

_Ginny and Fred_

* * *

_"I love you, you know."_

_Ginny squeezed her eyes closed. "No you don't."_

_"Ginny, I _do._"_

_"You_ did,_ you mean."_

_He reached out and gently touched her cheek. "I still do."_

_"You're lying."_

_"_Ginny._"_

_She met his eyes. "If you loved me," she said furiously, and there were tears welling up in her eyes, "then you wouldn't have_ left."

_"It wasn't my choice."_

_She was crying. "I know," she whispered. "I know. I hate it. I hate you."_

_He gave her a sad smile. "I love you."_

_Her hand is clenched into a fist. "Stop saying that."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because I'm trying to forget you, and you're making it hard."_

_"You want to forget me?"_

_She tipped her head back and took a breath. "Of course I want to forget you. I wish I'd never known you. It would hurt less that way."_

_"Oh." He cocked his head. "If you want a world without pain, you're out of luck."_

_"It isn't_ fair_ this way."_

_"If you want a world without unfairness, you're out of luck again."_

_She wanted to hit him almost as much as she wanted to hug him. "I wish it had been me instead."_

_"But it wasn't. And Gin, I don't mind it this way."_

_"I _do._"_

_"I know." He reached out to her, and she flinched away from him. "Steady," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, and it wasn't cold or icy like the hands of ghosts usually felt, because he wasn't a ghost, after all, he was just a dream, and in a way, that was even worse. "Steady."_

_"I'm tired of being the steady one."_

_"But you need to be, Gin. For all of them. You're the only one who _can _be."_

_"Why me? Why not Bill? Why not Percy? Why not bloody George?"_

_He ticked them off on his fingers. "Bill has his own family to take care of now. Percy isn't fit to be anyone's rock, he still blames himself for everything. And George - you know why not George."_

_She closed her eyes again. "I know why not George," she repeated. "I just hate all of this. I hate you. I hate that you died. I hate that I couldn't save you. I hate every inch of it."_

_He shrugged. "I know. But Ginny?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"I love you, you know."_

And then Ginny sat up straight in bed, eyes wide.

She slid onto the floor and padded out of her room and up one flight of stairs to the room with the twin beds.

The door was shut, but she pushed it open and moved to the bed closest to the window, where her brother was lying, sound asleep.

She shook him awake gently, and when he sat up, hair disheveled, and blinked at her, she wrapped him in a hug and began to cry into his shoulder.

"Whassamatter?" he mumbled, returning the hug.

"I had a dream that you were dead," she said quietly so she wouldn't wake George.

"Me? Dead?" Fred snorted. "Didn't you know I'm immortal? They don't let faces this handsome just _die._"

She laughed through her tears. "It was a Death Eater," she whispered. "One of them killed you."

Fred shook his head. "Nobody killed me. I'm right here. But I'm touched you're so worked up over this. Does this mean I'm the favorite brother?"

She laughed again, and nodded, and he squeezed her tightly before pulling a box of Bertie Botts' Every Flavor Beans from his secret stash and offering her a suspicious-looking blue one that ended up tasting like soap.

"I hate you," she moaned as she spit the bean out into her palm.

He flashed her a grin and popped a pink bean into his mouth. "Really? That's too bad. I love you, you know," he said with a wink.

Ginny smiled.

(But on the inside, she felt suddenly extremely unsteady.)

(Because she'd heard those words from that mouth before.)

* * *

_[Connecting the Weasleys Challenge: Steady, Fred/Ginny]_

_[100 Prompts Challenge: Dreaming]_

_[Wizard Sweets Challenge: Bertie Botts' Every Flavor Beans]_


	6. fight

**Fight**

_Molly and Fred_

* * *

It was five-thirty in the morning and Molly Weasley was wide awake, dressed, and sitting downstairs with her eyes fixed on the door.

Because her sons, according to the clock on her mantlepiece, had just switched from "Traveling" to "Home," which meant they'd be inside any second now, and she was going to give them a piece of her damn _mind_.

She heard them coming long before they touched the doorknob, heard their feet crunching in the gravel and their whispered voices telling each other how "wicked" it had been, heard them swear "not to let Mum find out." She took a long, slow breath. Any second now they'd open the door. Any second now. She could wait. She could hold herself down.

(No, she couldn't, this was the angriest she'd ever been and she was flying out the door.)

"Where have you _been_?" she snarled, looking from Fred to George to Ron to Harry - she hadn't been expecting Harry, but it was too late to act polite for company. "Beds empty, no note, car gone - could have crashed - out of my mind with worry - did you care? -_ never_, as long as I've lived - you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy -"

"Perfect Percy," muttered Fred.

She turned on him. "YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" she yelled, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. "You could have _died, _you could have been _seen, _you could have lost your father his _job - _"

"They were starving him, Mum!" Ron said. "There were bars on his window."

"Well, you'd best hope I don't put bars on _your _window, Ronald Weasley," she snapped. "Get inside. _Now._ Ron, show Harry up to your room and help him unpack his things."

"C'mon, Harry," Ron said quickly, racing up the stairs before she could change her mind. Harry tore after him.

"We'll bring the trunk," Fred called up the stairs. He and George each grabbed a handle and started for the staircase.

"Not. So. Fast."

"No, really, Mum, we'll be back in a jiffy."

"Yeah, we just want to be helpful."

"Don't take another _step_."

Fred made the mistake of putting his foot on the first step.

"_Fred Weasley, if you want to go back to Hogwarts this year, you will stop moving this instant._"

"Come on, Mum," George started, but she rounded on him.

"What in the world were you _thinking_? Did you think I wouldn't _know_? Did you think I wouldn't _realize?_"

"We were sort of hoping you'd be so happy to see Harry that you wouldn't question how he'd gotten here, actually," Fred admitted. He started to bend his knees.

"What are you doing?"

He looked confused. "Putting the trunk down. It's heavy."

"I said don't move, Fred Weasley, what didn't you understand?"

"Oh, you can't be serious, I can put the trunk down if I - "

"Don't. Move."

He sighed but straightened up, handle still clutched in his grasp.

She sank into a chair and began to massage her temples. "Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

"Aw, you worried about us?" George asked.

"We're touched, Mum, really."

"Of course I was worried. When I came downstairs to get a cup of tea, I didn't expect my clock to tell me three of my boys were out of bed - traveling - I thought you'd been _kidnapped_."

"The _clock_," Fred said with a groan. "I _knew _we'd overlooked something."

Molly shot him a glare. "I don't want to hear another word out of you."

"What? Why're you so much angrier with me than with George?"

"Because I'm her favorite," George replied. "Sorry, mate."

"You're both in equal amounts of trouble," Molly corrected. "But when George is the one talking, I tend to hear less bullshit. So tell me, George - "

"Wait a mo'," Fred cried. "What d'you mean, you hear less bullshit?"

"_Don't _swear, Fred Weasley, and I thought I told you to keep quiet."

"But - "

"Stop fighting me on this. I guarantee you won't win."

"But I - "

"You know, the more you speak, the less I want to let you go back to Hogwarts," Molly said dangerously, and Fred finally fell silent. "Now George. I want to hear whose idea this was. Start from the beginning."

George looked apologetically at his brother. "Erm, I'd say it was Percy's idea, really."

"See?" cried Fred. "That was bull - _stuff_," he amended hurriedly.

"Whose. Idea. Was. This."

"It was Ron's," Fred insisted. "It really was!" he added when Molly glared at him. "He said if he didn't hear back from Harry, we should take matters into our own hands. So if you're going to threaten someone with pulling them out of school, it should be Ickle Ronniekins."

"What in the name of _Merlin_ made you think you had to _listen _to him, Fred?"

"Well, Harry's the Boy Who Lived," George jumped in.

"Yeah, we wanted to make sure the savior of the wizarding world wasn't suffering."

"We're heroes, if you think about it."

"They should be giving us medals."

"Or prize money."

"Mum, my arm is going numb, can I please put the trunk down?"

Ginny chose that opportunity to run down the stairs, eyes wide. "Mum, did you know _Harry Potter _is in our house?"

"Ginny, what impeccable timing!" Fred clapped her on the back with his free hand. "Here, hold this for a second."

"Don't let go of that trunk, Fred Weasley, or there's no Hogwarts for you."

"Fine, don't send me back to Hogwarts. It just means I'll be here all year."

"Is that something you really want, Mum?" George asked.

"Dad's home," Ginny said, pointing at the clock on the mantlepiece. Molly turned; sure enough, Arthur's clock hand was gliding from "Traveling" to "Home."

"Good," Molly said. "Maybe your father will know how to deal with - "

But by the time she'd turned back to the staircase, the twins (and Ginny) were gone, and Harry Potter's trunk was abandoned on the ground.

* * *

_[Connect the Weasleys Challenge: Molly/Fred, "fight"]_

_[Tien Len Competition: Nine of Hearts - Molly Weasley I, door, "Start from the beginning.", "Don't watch the clock; do what it does. Keep going."- Sam Levenson]_

_[Fiddler on the Roof Song Challenge: If I Were A Rich Man - write about the Wealseys__]_

_[Star Challenge: Canopus - write a story set in the Golden Trio Era]_

_[Collect a Collection Competition: Molly Weasley (Weasleys). Prompt: Danger]_

_[Oh The Thinks You Can Think Challenge: Mayzie LaBird - write about someone irresponsible]_

_[Disney Characters Competition: Sven - write about twins. Prompt: Stolen]_


	7. naked truth

**Naked Truth**

_Arthur and Percy_

* * *

Percy knew he wasn't supposed to be in the garage.

He knew it was off-limits to everyone except his father. He knew it contained delicate muggle equipment, and he knew he might accidentally break something important.

That was why he was here, actually. To break something important.

Because a week ago Fred had put a sticking charm on Percy's doorknob, and the week before that George had let a garden gnome loose under his bed, and _dammit _enough was enough. They never seemed to get in trouble for any of it - Mum would yell, Fred would crack a joke, George would smooth it over, and they'd weasel their ways out of any punishment.

But not this time.

This time, _Dad _would be involved.

Percy clambered over the hood of the Ford Anglia, which had its hood open and its engine strewn across the floor in pieces. He stepped carefully around the rusted lawn mower and wound his way between two giant bookcases - one held nothing but lightbulbs, the other was packed with electrical cords and shiny muggle toasters - before he came to the very back of the garage, where Dad kept his most priceless items.

And there it was: the music box.

Percy had seen it once before, five years ago, back when he was only five or six. It was still just as hideous as he remembered. The music box featured a mechanical monkey, held together by glue and screws and Merlin knew what else, and when the box was wound up, it would clap its tiny hands together and play a song. It was the first cursed object Dad had ever brought home; Mundungus Fletcher had charmed the monkey to come to life and bite anyone who came near it.

The monkey had given Percy nightmares for years, but it was Dad's pride and joy. He'd removed the curse, taken the box apart, and then painstakingly pieced it back together. He probably came back here every day to admire it.

And Percy was going to smash it.

He'd pin it on Fred, of course - that wouldn't be a problem, not with his reputation - and then sit back and watch the punishments begin.

He picked the music box up off the shelf with both hands and carried it to the center of the garage. "Goodbye, monkey," he said quietly, and then he raised his hands over his head and let the music box fall to the floor.

It all fell apart with a satisfying _crash_. Springs scattered all over the floor. The monkey's head popped off and rolled under the Ford Anglia. The wooden box that held whatever made it play was cracked all the way up the side.

And it still wasn't enough, so Percy picked up what remained and threw it on the ground again.

"Try to get out of this one, Fred," he muttered, stomping on the monkey's headless body. "Just you _try _and get out of - "

"Percy?"

Percy whirled around. "Dad!"

His father was standing in the doorway, his eyes wide, his mouth tight. "What are you doing?"

"I - " Percy gestured helplessly. "I was, er - "

Dad walked in slowly and sank to his knees. "The music box?" he said, sweeping up the pieces with his hands. "I know you didn't like it, but . . . why?"

Percy swallowed. "I was trying to get Fred in trouble," he admitted quietly.

"Fred?" Arthur reached beneath the car to retrieve the monkey's head. The paint on its face was chipped and cracked from the fall. "Why, what's Fred done?"

"He's done _everything_," Percy said. "Don't you even notice?"

"No." Arthur had all the pieces together now. "Did he break something of yours?"

"No."

"Did he stomp on a favorite toy?"

"No, but - "

"Did he sneak into your room and take your possessions?"

"No!" Percy felt frustrated tears beginning to crawl up into his eyes. "He just doesn't listen to the _rules!_"

"And this is how you get back at him?" Arthur snapped. "By breaking your father's things?"

"That's not - "

"How does hurting _me _get back at Fred?" Arthur began to bend a spring between his fingers. "Because this _hurts, _Percy. I worked very hard on this music box, you know that. And now it's destroyed."

"I didn't _want_ to hurt you. Not directly. That wasn't the plan." Percy clenched his fists.

"What was the plan, then, Perce? Tell me the honest, naked truth."

Percy leaned against the Ford Anglia and stared at the broken music box. "Mum likes Fred and George more than she likes me."

"Well, that's just not true."

"Yes, it is. They never get in trouble."

"They're always in trouble."

"No, they aren't. Mum yells at them, but they find a way out of it all. I'm the only one who follows the rules, and I'm still treated the same as they are. It's not _fair. _And I thought maybe, if I got _you _angry enough, you'd punish them. Even the score."

"Percy." His father's hand was on his shoulder. "Your mother appreciates you very much. Do you think she likes to yell?"

"No, but - "

"She loves that she never has to yell at you!"

Percy sighed. "I just meant that - "

"And do you think Fred and George like being yelled at? I think that's a punishment in and of itself, don't you?"

_No. Not at all._ "Yes, father."

"Good." Arthur smiled and patted him on the head. "Now run along, won't you? I've got to clean this up. We won't tell your mother."

It wasn't worth the argument. "Yes, father."

And as he walked out of the garage, a part of him - a small part, but a part nonetheless - was very, very glad he'd hurt his father.

* * *

_[Connect the Weasleys Challenge: Arthur/Percy, "naked truth"]_

_[Wizard Family Portrait Challenge: Percy Weasley]_

_[Hook A Prompt Challenge: Row 3, Monkey]_

_[Collect A Collection Competition: Percy (Weasley Family)]_

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Muggle]_


	8. space

**Space**

_Bill and Charlie_

* * *

"It's nice to be home," Bill said to Charlie as he unpacked his trunk.

Charlie sat on his bed, eyes narrowed, mouth scowling.

"Hogwarts is great," Bill continued when Charlie didn't say anything, "but I was a bit homesick. I missed you all."

Silence from Charlie's side of the room.

"Come on, Charlie, what's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

Bill stopped unloading his clothes and leaned against the dresser they shared. "Something is," he said, running his hand through his mop of red hair. "You haven't even hugged me yet. Tell me what's wrong. Is it the twins?"

"No."

"Is it Mum and Dad?"

"No."

"Is it me?

Charlie didn't say anything.

"Charlie, did _I _do something?"

"I have to go to dinner now," Charlie said, and he slid to the floor and padded out of the room.

"Come on, Charlie, wait." Bill grabbed his brother around the waist and threw him back onto his bed. Being lifted up and tossed around like that usually made Charlie giggle, but he kept the sullen look pasted over his face.

"Don't do that to me," the younger boy scolded. "It's not nice of you."

"Okay, mate. I'm sorry." Bill sat down next to Charlie on the bed. "Can you tell me why you're upset with me?"

Charlie shook his head. "It'll hurt your feelings."

"No, it won't. I promise. Just tell me."

Charlie sighed. "It's just - I miss you when you're at Hogwarts. Really, I do. And it's good to see you. But Bill - d'you have any idea how much _space _you take up?"

"How much - how much _space_?"

"Yeah." Charlie pointed at Bill's clothes, which were spilling out of the dresser. "You take up four out of five dresser drawers. You use your side of the room to store books and school things, and you use _my _side of the room for your Quidditch stuff. Meanwhile all I have is one drawer and my bed."

Bill looked around the room. "You've never said anything about this before."

"That's because I didn't realize it until you left for Hogwarts. As soon as all your things were cleared out, I noticed how _massive _our room actually is." He sighed. "And now you're back, and it feels small again."

Bill rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry, mate," he said. "I guess I do have a lot of things."

"You _guess_?" Charlie repeated, eyes wide. "Bill. Look around. You have six first-year Transfiguration textbooks. You have _two cauldrons._"

"I can explain about the cauldrons."

"At this moment, our room is messier than Fred and George's."

"It is _not._" Bill's eyes were wide with horror.

Charlie nodded.

"That's _disgraceful._"

"It's _your fault, _Bill!Didn't you leave _anything _behind at school?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, loads of stuff. It's only winter holiday, I wasn't going to bring _everything _home."

Charlie groaned.

"Look, I know it's a little cluttered," Bill said. "But I need all of this."

His brother raised his eyebrows. "You need two cauldrons?"

"Well, yeah. What if one of you wants to have a potion-brewing race with me? How can we do that with only one cauldron?"

"Bill," Charlie said, putting his head in his hands. "You're the only one of us at Hogwarts. You're the only one who knows how to brew potions."

"Oh." Bill's face fell. "I hadn't thought of that. I could try and teach you. I know how to do Pepper-up Potions by heart."

"No, thank you."

A long silence fell over the boys.

Bill poked Charlie in the side. "I did miss you," he said. "Loads."

Charlie looked up at him. "Really?"

"Yeah. Did you miss me?"

"I didn't miss all your stuff."

"Right, I know. I didn't miss your smelly feet. But did you miss _me_?"

Charlie cracked a smile. "A bit, I suppose." He slid off the bed. "Want to come down for dinner with me?"

Bill stood, too. "You go ahead without me," he said. "I'm going to clean up a bit of my clutter."

"Really?"

"Of course! Can't have our room looking messier than Fred and George's, can we?"

Charlie grinned. "No, we can't."

And without warning, he tackled his brother in a hug.

* * *

_[Connect the Weasleys Challenge: Bill/Charlie, "space"]_

_[Wizard Family Portrait Challenge: Bill Weasley]_

_[Collect A Collection Competition: Bill (Weasley Family); Prompt: Homesick]_

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: Pepper-Up Potion]_


	9. soft

**Soft**

_Charlie and Molly_

* * *

Charlie hated St. Mungo's.

Because there was something about it that smelled like death, and in spite of the third-degree burns covering forty percent of his body, he wasn't quite ready to die yet.

_How do you feel this morning, Charles? _the Healers always asked, and he didn't know how long he'd been stuck in this place, but every morning when he opened his eyes it felt like the same day all over again. Breakfast was the same - dry pancakes coated in syrup that had the distinct bitter aftertaste of burning bitterroot potion - his visitors were always the same - Mum, Dad, Ginny - the Healers were always the same. And it was driving him absolutely mad.

_There's my baby_, said Mum, and she was crying, and she looked like she wanted to wrap her arms around him and never let go, but she didn't touch him. _I've always told you those dragons are dangerous. You're lucky to have gotten out alive._

_I know, Mum._

It was the same conversation over and over, day after day, and it always ended with Mum pressing her soft hand against his one un-scorched cheek and Ginny letting out a little sob.

Charlie had asked for a mirror once, but they'd never let him have one.

* * *

_How do you feel this morning, Charles_? asked the Healer when she came in with his breakfast. Pancakes, syrup, potion. He'd done this a hundred times. Why wasn't he getting any better?

_Fine._

_Glad to hear it. _And she smiled at him and walked away.

_Am I dying? _he almost called after her, but he held his tongue.

And then Mum bustled in, dragging Ginny behind her, and began to cry over his red, raw skin and warn him about dragons and remind him that he was lucky.

_I know, Mum._

A soft hand on his cheek. A sob from his sister.

Gone.

* * *

_How do you feel this morning, Charles_?

_Fine._

_Glad to hear it._

Food. Potion. Mum.

_There's my baby. I've always told you those dragons are dangerous. . . ._

_I know, Mum._

Soft hand. Sob.

Gone.

* * *

_How do you feel this morning Charles fine glad to hear it there's my baby I've always told you those dragons are dangerous you're lucky lucky lucky lucky lucky lucky luckyluckyluckyluckylu _

* * *

_You don't appear to be recovering quite as quickly as we'd hoped, Charlie._

_Fine, _Charlie said out of pure habit, and then, _Sorry?_

It was a new Healer today, one he'd never seen before. The pin on his lapel introduced him as Healer Ric. _You've been with us now for over three months, and we've hardly seen any improvement._

Charlie's heart began to thud.

_Those dragons. They're dangerous creatures._

_I know they are. I already went over all of this with the other Healer. _Charlie swallowed. _Am I dying?_

Healer Ric gave him a sad smile. _We're all dying, Charlie._

Charlie humored him with a smirk. _Am I dying faster than everyone else?_

Healer Ric looked down at his notes. _Do you think you are?_

Charlie lifted one burned shoulder in a shrug. _I feel fine, _he said.

The Healer didn't say anything.

Charlie broke the silence. _The truth is, I feel like time doesn't move in this place. I've been living the same day over and over. It's always the same food, the same conversations, the same company, the same injury. And it's _boring. _I can't stand it, cooped up in here day after day. I want to go back to work, to get some sunlight and fresh air. If I can't have that, I'd almost rather die._

Healer Ric raised his eyebrows. _You'd go back to working with dragons?_

Charlie nodded.

_That's brave. That's impressively brave. _The Healer made a note on his chart. _I think, _he said finally, _that you're going to pull through, Charlie Weasley._

* * *

"How do you feel this morning, Charles?"

Charlie sat up. "Fine. D'you know if Healer Ric is in today?"

The Healer offered him a tray of pancakes. "Healer Ric?" she repeated. "I've never heard of - _Charles!_" She took Charlie's chin between her fingers and tilted his head back to examine the burns covering his face. "You've improved."

Charlie nearly dropped the tray. "I _have_?"

She went into the bathroom and came back with a hand mirror. "See for yourself."

Charlie lifted the mirror.

His face was smooth, clean and soft, as if it had never been burned at all.

* * *

_[Connect The Weasleys: Molly/Charlie, "soft"]_

_[Monthly Drabble-A-Thon: lucky]_

_[Collect A Collection Competition: Charlie (Weasley Family); Location Prompt: St. Mungo's]_

_*There are subtle Supernatural references all over the place in this. Think Tuesdays and T(Ric)ksters. But also think God(Ric) Gryffindor._


	10. breakable

Breakable

_Molly and Ron_

* * *

He's three the first time he takes to the sky.

(Not really, actually, because he doesn't make it more than a few feet off the ground.)

And then the broomstick goes shaky in his hands, and he's falling, falling, falling, it feels like _hours _go by before he cracks his head on the pavement.

It's Mum who yells at him and tells him he's a fool, but it's also Mum who picks him up and clears away the blood. "Be careful," she reminds him, wiping a tear from her youngest son's eye. "You are breakable."

* * *

He doesn't fly again for years after that, not until the second flying lesson with Madame Hooch. He doesn't fall this time, but that's because he barely mounts his broom; he hovers for one, two, three seconds, trainers barely an inch off the ground, and then he gently returns to solid ground.

(Because everyone saw what happened to Neville at the first flying lesson, and Ron knows just how breakable people are.)

* * *

The next time he flies is at Quidditch tryouts in fifth year, and he's nervous as _hell, _he's never been up this high in his life, but he's a Gryffindor and he's supposed to be brave even when he doesn't want to be.

It goes just as badly as he thought it would - he goes spinning out of control, he drops the Quaffle, he nearly falls and breaks every inch of himself.

Part of him is relieved when it's over, because now he never needs to fly again.

Except, of course, that they want him on the team, and for the rest of the year the word _breakable _is constantly on his mind.

* * *

The fourth time he flies is at practice, where he is assured that the more he practises the better he will become, and he doesn't believe it for a second.

(Throwing a china cup thirty feet in the air doesn't make it any less breakable, even if you do it a hundred times.)

But then on his fifth flight he notices the shakiness has gone away from his hands, and on his ninth flight he's stopped looking down, and one day - he's lost count of how many flights he's had now - he's able to focus on the _match_, instead of clinging to his broom so tightly it begins to crack under his palms.

That's the same match in which he saves a goal shot by Malfoy, and the disbelief on that git's face makes everything worth it.

(Because people are breakable, right down to their egos, and some people need to be shattered once in awhile.)

* * *

He teaches his son to fly when he's three years old.

"Careful," he says, holding Hugo up with one hand on his back. "Don't lean too far to either side. Don't want to fall off."

"I can do it," Hugo insists. "Take off your hand, Daddy."

Of course the moment the training wheels pull away, Hugo falls flat on his face, and it's a flashback to his own mum and for a split second Ron feels his own head crack against the pavement.

"Don't worry," Ron says, lifting his son to his feet and dusting off his shirt. "We'll try again. You'll get better."

"No." Hugo folds his little arms. "It hurts. Don't wanna."

Ron kneels down to his son's eye line. "I know. People are breakable, Hough, and sometimes they get hurt. But you have to remember something."

"What?"

"Even broken things can be put back together." He lifts his son back onto the broomstick. "And sometimes they end up even better than before."

* * *

_[Connect the Weasleys Challenge: Molly/Ron; breakable]_

_[Monthly Drabble-a-Thon: better]_

_[Collect A Collection Competition: Hugo (Weasleys) Word Prompt: spinning]_

_[Hook A Prompt Challenge: R5 - Broomstick]_

_[30 Harry Potter Prompts: Quidditch]_

_[Wizard Family Portrait: Ron Weasley]_


	11. secret

**Secret**

_Ron and Ginny_

* * *

The niffler was supposed to be their little secret.

"Don't tell Mum, Ginny," Ron warned as he opened the box and let the mole-like creature out onto the lawn.

Ginny's nine-year-old eyes widened. "And they actually dig for treasure?" she whispered. The niffler moved to the centre of the garden and twitched its long, thin snout.

"Anything shiny, Fred said." Ron glanced over his shoulder to make sure nobody was coming. "We can't let it into the house, it'll go mad when it sees all the knives in the kitchen."

"And the doorknobs." Ginny nodded knowingly. "How did Fred get a hold of one of these?" she asked. The niffler made a little squeal and began to burrow.

"Care of Magical Creatures class. He nicked one when Professor Kettleburn's back was turned."

"Why'd he send it to us?" Ginny asked. The niffler had dug deep enough that its entire body was engulfed, and all they could see was the dirt flying out of the hole.

"He and George tried to make it find gold on the Grounds, but it was too risky. And there's no buried treasure at Hogwarts anyway. But there could be something here, you never know."

The niffler reappeared with a lump of dirty tin foil clamped in its jaws. It rushed over to drop the shiny object in Ginny's lap, and then rolled over onto its back and looked at her expectantly.

"What's it doing?" she whispered to Ron.

"I think it wants you to - to pet it."

Ginny lowered her hand to the niffler's exposed belly and began to rub gently. It let out a squeal and wriggled around. Ginny grinned. "It likes me!" she said. "Good boy, little niffler." She pulled her hand back and frowned at the dirt covering her palm. "He needs a bath, Ron. I can fill up the sink in my bathroom - "

"No, we can't take it inside." Ron poked the niffler. It growled. "Erm. Hi, little niffler. Sir. Erm. Can you go find us some gold, please?"

The niffler rolled off its back and fixed Ron with a steely glare.

"I don't think he likes you telling him what to do," Ginny whispered.

"Well, if he won't look for gold, he's useless." Ron opened up the niffler's box. "Might as well send him back to Fred."

"No!" Ginny snatched the niffler up in her arms. "I love him!"

The niffler purred.

Ron sighed. "Fine. You can keep him. But if Mum ever finds out, I had no part in this."

"Okay." Ginny gave her niffler a peck on the tip of its snout. "I'll keep it secret."

* * *

_[Connect the Weasleys Challenge: secret - Ron/Ginny]_

_[Monthly Drabble a Thon: niffler]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Style Challenge: 6 fics under 500 words - 6/6]_

_[Globetrotter Competition:__ Amsterdam, Netherlands – Write about someone doing something they shouldn't__]_

_[30 Harry Potter Prompts: The Burrow]_


	12. burn

**Burn**

_Ginny and Charlie_

* * *

Ginny is ten years old when she decides she's had enough, and four hours later she's in Romania knocking on her brother's door.

"Ginny?" Charlie says when she shows up on his doorstep. "What are you doing here?"

She pushes past him into his apartment. "Moving in."

"Why?"

"Why?" She whips around to face him. "Because everyone else is gone. I'm the only one left at home, and it's _terrible_. I can't take another year of it. So I ran away. Where's your spare room?"

Charlie leans against the door jamb and grins. "I haven't got one. This place is only big enough for one. Ginny, does Mum know you're here?"

"No."

"How did you even get here?"

"Knight Bus." Ginny begins to unpack her things. "Just let me stay, Charlie. One year, that's all I need, then I'm old enough for Hogwarts and I'll be out of your hair."

Charlie sighs. "I can't - look, I love you, Ginny, but I can't babysit. I've got work to do."

"I know, with all the dragons." Ginny stands. "I can help."

Charlie laughs, and Ginny feels herself flush.

"I _can,_" she says.

"I believe you," he says. "And I'd love to let you, but Mum'll have my hide if I let you get burned to death by a dragon."

"I won't get burned. I'm quick."

Charlie crosses to the couch and sits. "Ever tried to dodge _confringo_?" he asks, patting the seat next to him.

She sits down. "What's _confringo_ do?"

He takes out his wand and points it at his coffee table. "_Confringo!_"

The entire table - and a good chunk of the rug beneath it - explodes into flame.

Ginny screams.

"Yeah." Charlie douses the flames in water and repairs the damage with a flick of his wand. "Dragons can do more than that in their sleep. _Baby _ones can do more than that in their sleep. I don't care how quick you are, Gin, you'll get hurt."

She doesn't give up. "I could stay in the apartment, then. Safe."

"And what, be alone all day? Isn't that what you've got at home?"

Ginny opens her mouth, then closes it.

Charlie pats her shoulder. "Come on," he says, standing up. "Pack your suitcase again. I'll Floo Mum to tell her you're coming home. But Ginny?"

She looks up at him sullenly.

"It was good to see you." He offers her a grin. "I'm a little lonely too."

And she still looks angry.

(But she hugs him anyway.)

* * *

_[Connect the Weasleys Challenge: burn - Ginny/Charlie]_

_[Monthly Drabble a Thon: Confringo]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Style Challenge: Seven Weasley fics (1/7)]_

_[Globetrotter Competition:__ Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, United States – Write about someone small but tough, or Ginny Weasley__]_


	13. missing

**Missing**

_Ron and George_

* * *

Ron won't admit it, but he misses the twins.

Of course he understands why they're gone, and he cheered along with everyone else when they dropped fireworks on Umbridge's head and zoomed away into the sunset - but the common room feels empty without them. Everything's too quiet; habit tells him to brace himself for some kind of prank, but there's nothing coming, no dung bombs from Fred, no exploding inkpots from George.

It's George he misses the most, he thinks, because the twins are identical in appearance but not in personality, and George has a touch more sympathy than Fred. It was George who told Fred off for transfiguring Ron's teddy bear into a spider when he was young, and, more recently, it was George who encouraged Ron to go out for the Quidditch team. That's how he can tell the twins apart: George is the one with a flash of pity behind his eyes.

"All right, Ron?" Lee Jordan asks, and he jumps a mile, because it's too quiet around here and every little noise sounds like a prank.

"Fine," Ron says, and he smiles. "Just wondering about how much trouble Fred and George are in at home right now."

Lee sits next to him and gazes into the fire. "Worth it, though, for what they did."

"Yeah."

"You miss them?"

Ron shrugs. "I'll see them over summer, won't I?"

"Yeah." Lee sighs. "I just - does it seem different in here to you?"

"Quiet, you mean?" Ron says glumly. "Yeah."

"No." Lee shakes his head. "I meant more like . . . cold."

Ron doesn't answer, just looks at the fireplace and wonders who Lee misses more: Fred or George.

* * *

_[Connect the Weasleys Challenge: missing - Ron/George]_

_[Globetrotter Competition:__ New York City, New York, United States – Write about spending time in the common room.__]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Style Challenge: Seven Weasley fics - 2/7]_


	14. fingertips

**Fingertips**

_Arthur and Ginny_

* * *

It was only after Arthur was halfway down the aisle that he realized he _couldn't let go of his daughter's hand_.

He'd given her away just fine in the rehearsal last night. He knew exactly when he was supposed to kiss her on the cheek and hand her off to Harry, when he was meant to step back and watch them exchange their wedding vows. He'd watched four of his other children get married, seen four of his daughters-in-law be given away by their fathers, and he knew how the process worked, and yet he _still couldn't do it_.

Because Ginny was still a _baby_, and the fingers she had clasped around his hand at this moment were the same fingers that had latched onto his thumb the day she'd been born. The hands had grown, but the fingertips were the same, and if he let go of them now he didn't know whether he'd ever get them back.

(He knew he wouldn't, actually.)

"Dad," Ginny hissed from the side of her mouth, but he couldn't hear, he was lost in those fingertips, drowning in memories of showing them how to pet the family chickens, of kissing them when Ron slammed them in the door by mistake, of training them to hold a pen, of holding onto them tightly while she learned to ride a broom, of telling her _don't worry, I'm right here, I won't let you fall, I won't let go of your hand -_

"Dad?"

Arthur felt his lip tremble. "I can't," he whispered as his vision clouded over with tears.

"Daddy." Ginny leaned in to kiss his cheek, and he let out a shuddery gasp, because _since when was his little girl tall enough to reach him without having to put her arms in the air and scream, "UP!" and beg him to lift her_?

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." She gently unwound her hands from his grasp. "Daddy, you have to let me go."

"I - I can't - "

"I love you," she promised, and she was smiling but her eyes were filling up, too, and Arthur wished to _Merlin _he could go back to the days when she was crying about a Boggart in the closet or a teasing brother instead of her wedding day. "I love you, and I want you to let me go."

(And the only reason he did it - the only reason he was capable of letting go of the fingertips of Ginny Weasley - was because it was Ginny Weasley herself who had asked.)

* * *

_[Connect the Weasleys Challenge: Arthur/Ginny - fingertips]_

_[Twelve Days of Christmas Challenge: 7 Weasley fics - 3/7]_

_[Globetrotter Competition: Paris, France - write a romance of any kind]_


End file.
